


Pup Flup

by ikeracity



Series: The Associates [4]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Charles Is a Big Dorkface, Domestic Fluff, Erik is a Big Dorkface, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-16 01:50:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2251413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikeracity/pseuds/ikeracity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles wants a dog. Erik is not so easily convinced.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pup Flup

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pangea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pangea/gifts).



> Pan and I have other ideas in mind for this verse, but meanwhile, have this completely random fluff. 
> 
> Quick beta by Katiaswift, who also suggested the title :P

There are very few things in the world that Erik would deny Charles. If Charles wants to go for a walk in the park, Erik will put away whatever he’s doing and take him out. If Charles wants an autograph from every player on the NY Red Bulls, Erik will prowl by every practice session until he gets them. If Charles wants to go to the opera, Erik will roll his eyes and grumble and pretend he hates every single second but he’ll go, if only for the kiss Charles grants him after it’s over, thankful and affectionate. Ever since Charles came into his life, Erik feels like he’s forgotten how to say no.

But there is one thing Erik absolutely does not want in their house and that thing is a dog.

“Look,” Charles says after dinner, shaking brochures of animal shelters at him. “These dogs need homes!”

Standing in the kitchen, Erik stirs a little cream into his coffee and some sugar into Charles’ tea. “Those dogs can find homes somewhere else.”

“Don’t be heartless. All the shelters have online websites so we can look at pictures of dogs up for adoption. Some of them are really quite adorable. I’m sure we can find one we like.”

“I don’t want a dog,” Erik says firmly as he carries their drinks out to the living room. A glance at the TV tells him Charles is back on his crime show kick – Criminal Minds is playing with the volume down on low and the subtitles switched on.

“You’ve never wanted a dog?” Charles asks, taking his socked feet off the coffee table so Erik can walk past. He has his laptop in his lap and Erik glimpses a video of a horde of running corgi puppies. “Not even when you were a little kid?”

Erik hands him his tea and sits down beside him. “Dogs smell. They shed. They poop everywhere.”

“Only if they’re untrained. And I’ll clean up after him, I promise. Or her.”

Erik turns up the TV’s volume with a wave of his hand. “Why do you even want a dog? I’ve never heard you talk about it before.”

“Well, I figure it would make our place more homey. Couples get dogs together all the time. Plus – ” He turns his laptop so Erik can see. “ – look how _irresistible_ they are.”

Erik looks. The large majority of Charles’ selection seems to be mangy mutts that probably have fleas and irritating habits like peeing on carpets or chewing up furniture. None of them looks particularly appealing. Even Charles’ hopeful grin doesn’t sway him in the least bit.

Probably skimming his mind, Charles huffs and pulls the laptop back into his lap. “Heartless.”

Erik throws his arm around Charles’ shoulders and tugs him close as he cranks up the volume some more. “If you really want a pet, we’ll get a fish.”

“Thank you so much,” Charles says dryly. “Just what I wanted.”

He doesn’t bring the topic up again that night, but Erik sees him bookmark the shelter’s website. Great, he thinks to himself, mentally digging in trenches. This is going to be a long battle.

 

*

 

“I have something to show you,” Charles declares two nights later after Erik’s come home. As Erik strips out of his coat, Charles carries his laptop over and sets it on the hallway table.

“Can it wait until I get my shoes off?”

“It’ll take five minutes,” Charles replies, hitting the spacebar. A row of rainbow letters fly artfully down from the top of the screen to spell out ‘WHY WE NEED A DOG, a Presentation by Charles Xavier.’

“You made a PowerPoint?” Erik says incredulously. He’s torn between laughing and frowning heavily at the subject matter.

“I have a multipronged plan of attack. This is just stage one.” Charles hits space again and brings up a slide titled ‘HEALTH BENEFITS.’ Underneath is a detailed graph of what appears to be life expectancy with dogs and without, complete with a citation.

Suppressing a sigh, Erik settles in for a long lecture.

Needless to say, it lasts significantly longer than five minutes and they manage to spend half an hour standing in the hallway arguing about the merits, or lack thereof, of owning a dirty, slobbering creature of questionable intelligence. The conversation actually gets heated enough that they take it to the bedroom and Erik can’t believe they’re about to have angry sex about this but he wouldn’t put a stop to it if the house were on fire.

Afterwards, when they lying breathless and exhausted on opposite sides of the bed, Charles grumbles, “Why can’t we get a dog? If you hate it so much, I’ll keep it on my side of the bed.”

“The dog is _not_ sleeping in the bed,” Erik snaps. “There isn’t going to _be_ a dog at all.”

“Not even a little one? I admit, I’d like a bigger dog, but I’ll take a Pomeranian if that’s what you want.”

Erik pictures a Pomeranian yapping at his heels and wants to crush it, even if it’s imaginary. “We are not getting a small dog.”

“Then what about a bigger one?” Charles leans over the bed for a second and comes up with a cardboard box. Inside are a dozen printouts of the profiles of the shelter dogs, much to Erik’s dismay. “This one’s Tucker. He’s pretty cute. That goofy face could charm a snake. And this one’s Gregor. Like Gregor _Mendel_. Look at him, Erik! He’s perfect!”

Erik stares at the picture as ordered. An ugly brown mutt stares back at him with its tongue lolling in a stupid grin, its floppy ears standing half-erect.

“No?” Charles says, watching his expression closely. “That’s okay. I picked out eight others.”

For some unfathomable reason, Erik ends up looking through the profiles with Charles perched at his side pointing at his favorites. The thought that strikes him after a while is one that’s surfaced often since Charles moved in: how the hell is this actually his life and how the hell does he stop it. Reading extensive adoption profiles for a dog he doesn’t want because of his animal-loving boyfriend is not something he would like included in his record as a career criminal. In fact, he’d like it expunged from the record immediately, and they can put away this box and pretend this conversation never happened.

Of course, Charles has no such ideas. “Tricksy is a pretty dog but she’s a little temperamental,” he muses as he lies on his belly, picking through the papers. “What about Duke?”

Erik privately thinks the name is acceptable but the dog is very much not. “It’s…scrawny.”

“Of course he is. He’s a shelter dog. They don’t get fed four-course meals there, you know. I’ll put him in the ‘maybe’ pile.”

He’s put every dog in the ‘maybe’ pile so far, even after Erik had rejected all of them. Erik’s a little concerned that he’s going to come home one day to find fourteen dogs lounging around on his furniture because Charles couldn’t choose just one.

“What about…” Charles flourishes a picture in front of his face. “…Flora?”

“I am not getting a dog named Flora,” Erik grouses, batting the page away. He scans the remaining profiles and grabs one of a big, black dog that looks like it could bite a chunk out of a man’s leg. Then he reads the name and grimaces. “Old Dan. What the fuck.”

“It’s from _Where the Red Fern Grows._ ”

“I know it’s from _Where the Red Fern Grows._ But that’s the worst name. The dog dies.”

Charles’ brow furrows. “The name conjures up thoughts of bravery and loyalty. It’s not half-bad.”

“We’re not getting the dog that dies,” Erik says flatly, laying the page aside. The next dog is a Doberman, which is admittedly good-looking and is on the shortlist of dog breeds that Erik might be convinced to tolerate.

Charles sits up eagerly. “That one’s my favorite. My number one.”

Erik wrinkles his nose. “Her name is Rosie. No.”

“But, Erik, she’s _perfect._ Look how beautiful she is. And she’s purebred, only two years old, house trained, and knows a load of tricks. She looks mean at first but she’s such a sweetheart once you let her sniff your hand and…I…”

Erik gives him a long look. After a moment, Charles admits shamefacedly, “I went to the shelter last week. Three times.”

Erik realizes with a sinking feeling that he’s already lost. “Don’t tell me you’ve bought a collar already.”

“No. But don’t ask me why our Amazon shopping cart is full of dog supplies.”

With a groan, Erik crumples up the page he’s holding and throws it at Charles’ face. “Alright, fine. We’re getting a dog.”

Charles tackles him back into the bed, showering him in light kisses. “You’re the very best, did you know that? The _best.”_

“And you’d better remember it,” Erik grumbles, but he’s too busy paying attention to Charles’ roaming hands to be truly upset and besides, having a boyfriend who wants a dog isn’t the worst thing in the world. He has to admit, Charles has simple, inexpensive tastes, which often just makes Erik want to spoil him more.

“So,” Charles says breathlessly, once he’s kissed Erik all over, “I can order all the stuff tomorrow, and we can go by the shelter and pick up Rosie over the weekend. Oh, Erik, you’re going to love her so much. She’s beautiful and so very friendly and she’s going to love sleeping with us on the…not bed.”

“The not bed,” Erik repeats dryly. “Good save.”

Charles laughs and kisses his neck and Erik reluctantly starts to write a set of ground rules in his head.

 

*

 

The collar comes in on Wednesday because Charles, chronically impatient as he is, paid for two-day shipping. With it comes a box of chew toys, a Frisbee, a dog bowl, and a blindingly green leash. Erik glances through the assortment before picking up the collar and turning it over to examine it. It’s high-quality leather, just the sort of minor extravagance Charles wouldn’t think twice about, and the little tag is already engraved with Rosie’s name and their home phone number.

“Did you get this custom-made?” Erik asks. “Off _Amazon?”_

“I might have changed my mind and picked a specialty store,” Charles answers with a grin. He throws the tennis ball experimentally down the hall and listens to it clatter into something near their bedroom door. “Oops.”

“Let me guess, the dog bowl is engraved, too,” Erik says, reaching for it.

“No. I was actually hoping you’d do it. Getting Rosie is like a project for both of us. We both should pitch in a little.” Charles gives him a winning smile. “Could you also draw a little rose by her name? It’ll be utterly charming.”

“I don’t do utterly charming,” Erik mutters, but he does it anyway and Charles absolutely loves it, even though the ‘E’ in ROSIE is slightly crooked and the tiny rose is asymmetrical. Charles kisses him sloppily and then gathers everything up in a box and carries it to their bedroom.

After a moment, Erik finds a sheet of paper and sticks it to the refrigerator with their Eiffel Tower magnet. _RULES AND REGULATIONS_ , he writes on top. _#1: No dogs in the bedroom._

 

*

 

Charles talks of nothing but their dog for the next two days. Erik is already starting to feel suffocated and the damn animal isn’t even in their house yet, but it’s been a while since he’s seen Charles so genuinely excited over something and he doesn’t want to spoil Charles’ fun. So he buys Charles dog training books and dog toys and even a little dog sweater because what the hell, if he’s going to get a dog named Rosie, he’s going to go all in.

He also buys a small manual on training dogs to defend the home and reads this in the office when there’s a lull in business, ignoring Azazel’s quirked eyebrow. “You don’t need an attack dog,” the Russian remarks, curious. “Or do you not trust me to keep you safe anymore?”

“Charles wants a dog,” is all Erik says, and then Azazel’s smile turns distinctly knowing and amused. Erik grumpily throws him out, which only makes Azazel grin wider.

On Saturday, he’s called out to Queens for business, so Charles heads to the shelter alone. “I’ll have her settled in by the time you get home,” he says brightly as he straightens Erik’s crooked tie. “Have a good day at work, darling, and call me if you need me.”

His tone sounds like ‘Do not call me for any reason because I am getting our magical dog and I will not answer’ so Erik kisses him on cheek and resigns himself to not hearing from Charles all day long.

He spends the morning with Alex trawling along one of the streets in their territory, assessing the neighborhood. All his borders have been mostly quiet lately, which is relaxing and also a bit strange; he’s used to a little more action and it worries him slightly when the streets grow calm. It always feels like less of an established peace and more of the calm before the storm.

The day ends as uneventfully as it began and Erik takes off for home at five, trying to guess how many times Charles has already allowed Rosie on the couch. Erik wouldn’t be surprised to get home to find Charles and Rosie spooning in their bed. He prepares to be annoyed.

Instead, when he opens the door, everything is silent. No barking, no laughing, no sounds of things being knocked over by an overenthusiastic dog. Erik reaches out with his power and finds Charles in the study in front of the computer. He can feel the collar sitting on coffee table, cold.

Shucking off his coat, he walks down the hall and stops in the doorway of the study. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Charles returns without looking up. Judging by the red pen in his hand, Charles is marking up student papers, something he usually likes to do in the bed. Erik glances at his feet and then around at the study.

“Where’s Rosie?” he asks, puzzled.

“Someone else came for her yesterday,” Charles says tonelessly, typing something one-handed onto the computer. “I thought I’d reserved her but there was some mix-up with the paperwork and someone adopted her yesterday.”

Erik’s heart sinks down into his stomach. Point a gun at him and he won’t flinch, threaten to murder him bloodily and he might even smile, but force him to listen to the barely-veiled disappointment in Charles’ voice and he wants to both hold Charles tight in his arms and go out and maybe kneecap whoever’s responsible. He _hates_ seeing Charles sad.

“Isn’t there some kind of appeal you could start?” Erik asks. “Some sort of custody battle?”

“She’s a dog adopted from an animal shelter, Erik. It’s hardly adopting a baby or something. You can’t appeal for ownership or – or just insist that the shelter got things wrong. They can’t do anything about it. The dog’s gone to a new home and that’s that.”

Erik crosses over to him and bends down to kiss his jaw. “Are you alright?”

“Mm, fine,” Charles says, but Erik can feel his misery through their skin contact; Charles always projects a little when he’s upset unless he’s really concentrating. “There are plenty of other dogs out there.”

But it’s Rosie’s collar on the table, isn’t it _._ Rosie’s food bowl sitting beside the kitchen island.

“I’m alright, really,” Charles says after a moment. “I’ve just got to finish this stack of essays and then we can have dinner. Thai?”

“I’ll get the menu,” Erik replies, kissing him one more time on the ear before slipping out.

They have dinner and watch some TV. It’s an idle, quiet night in, and before they go to bed, Charles puts the collar and all the toys back into the box and slides it into the hallway closet.

“We can find another dog,” he says as they climb into bed. “Or we could get a puppy and name her Rosie.”

“Are you really alright?” Erik asks.

Charles switches off the light and lies down. After a long silence, he sighs and admits, “I really, really wanted her, Erik. We could’ve been really great friends. But I suppose it’s for the best; you didn’t want a dog anyway. Maybe we can wait a couple of years and see how we feel then.”

His disappointment leaks all over Erik but Erik doesn’t say anything. He just pulls Charles closer and pretends he’s not a little disappointed, too.

 

*

 

“No more dog books today,” Azazel jokes as Erik sits at his desk going over the Finnegan accounts. “Charles get bored of the idea?”

“Someone else got the dog he wanted,” Erik growls, trying to ignore his headache. He’s pretty sure Charles didn’t mean to give it to him, but some of Charles’ despondency seems to have stuck in the back of his mind and remains there, throbbing unhappily.

Azazel makes a low, rumbling noise in his chest. “That sucks.”

That about sums it up.

Then Erik thinks, _I’m a fucking mob boss. Why is this even a problem?_

Lifting his head, he says, “Get me Alex.”

Azazel disappears. Not even a full minute later, he reappears with Alex in tow, the latter complaining, “I was literally downstairs, you could have just called me up.”

“I have a job for you,” Erik tells him. “It’s of the utmost importance.”

Alex straightens, sobering up immediately. “Yes, sir.”

“It is for Charles,” Azazel adds, and the tension leaks right out of Alex again like air from a deflated balloon.

“Oh, for Charles,” Alex says with an easy grin. “Sure, what is it?”

Charles really has got all of Erik’s people wrapped around his little finger, Erik thinks with a sigh. He should stop letting Charles buy lunch for everyone and bring coffee on early mornings.

“There’s this dog named Rosie,” Erik begins, and Alex starts to laugh.

 

*

 

He gets home so late that night that Charles is already asleep. Erik has no qualms about switching on the light and shaking him awake, even when Charles mumbles sleepily, “Erik, stop, I have to get up early to go to school tomorrow. What’s going on?”

“I have to show you something.”

“It’s practically two in the morning, what are you - ”

“Stay out of my head,” Erik says sternly as he drags Charles out of bed by his arm. “I can feel you rustling around in there. Come on.”

He waits just long enough for Charles to jam his feet into some slippers before hauling him down the hallway and out the door.

“Jesus, it’s _freezing_. Erik, where are we – ”

Right on cue, Rosie begins to bark from the back of Erik’s car, and Charles’ eyes grow enormous. “Erik, is that – ?”

“The one and only,” Erik replies, unable to keep from smiling when Charles sprints to the car. The trunk door opens with a wave of his hand and Rosie leaps out and immediately jumps all over Charles, who’s trying to hug and pet her at the same time.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you went and got her,” Charles splutters. “I thought she was – they told me – ” He freezes. “Erik, please don’t tell me you took this dog from some poor kid.”

“Took her off a girl who just wanted a dog to protect her since she lived alone,” Erik says, just the tiniest bit smug at how adoringly Charles is regarding him right now. “I had Alex give her another dog instead. It all worked out.”

“I can’t believe we really got her. Just look at her, she’s beautiful – ” Rearing up on her hind legs, Rosie licks Charles’ cheeks and neck, much to Charles’ delight. “Erik, let’s get the collar. Let’s get her dog bowl out and feed her. I bet she’s hungry. Aren’t you hungry, girl? How long have you been sitting in that car, huh? Come on, darling, let’s get you something to eat.”

“I fed her a little earlier,” Erik tells him, holding the door open for the both of them. Rosie’s nails click loudly on the wood-paneled floor as she trots toward the living room, sniffing at everything. “She could probably use some water and some rest now.”

“I’ll get her dog bed,” Charles says brightly, and goes to do just that.

But then he spends the next two hours wrestling around with her on the floor and when Erik finally coaxes him to bed and shuts the bedroom door, Rosie sits outside and whines.

“I should never have gotten that dog,” Erik growls as he tries to bury his face into his pillow.

“She’s just sad and lonely,” Charles says in the darkness, sitting up. He sounds a little sad and lonely, too, and Erik takes approximately two seconds to be jealous before telling himself it’s ridiculous to be jealous over a _dog_. “Being in a new place can be scary. Can’t she just sleep with us tonight, Erik? Please?”

There are very few things in the world that Erik would deny Charles, and evidently letting the dog sleep in the bed isn’t one of them. In the morning, he wakes up with Rosie sprawled out between them and dog drool on his pillow, but when he sits up and takes in the sight of Charles hugging their dog and snoring contentedly, he really can’t bring himself to mind. 

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cover art for "Pup Flup"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5615512) by [avictoriangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avictoriangirl/pseuds/avictoriangirl)




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